Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 272 The scenery outside the car window shifted gradually, trading London's urban gray for the softer, greener tones of the English countryside. There was something hypnotic about the rolling hills dotted with stone houses and fields stretching as far as the eye could see. "Where are we going again?" I asked for the third time, turning to look at Nate, who was driving with a calmness that contrasted sharply with my growing curiosity. "I told you... it's a surprise," he replied, shooting me a playful glance before refocusing on the road.

"Trust me." "Famous last words," I teased, but leaned back in my seat, deciding to enjoy the mystery. Something about Nate felt different today. Ever since he'd picked me up that morning, he'd seemed more relaxed, less tense than he had been in days. Like he'd temporarily left the weight of the office-and all its complications-behind. We arrived in a small town that looked straight out of a postcard-cobblestone streets, houses with blooming gardens, a tiny church with an old bell tower sitting at the center of the square.

It was the kind of place that instantly made you slow down, breathe deeper. "Here," Nate said, parking in front of a traditional pub with a dark wooden façade and old-fashioned windowpanes. "You're going to like this." Only when we stepped out of the car did I notice something odd. Nate had pulled a baseball cap low over his face, was wearing sunglasses, and had zipped his coat all the way up to his neck. He looked less like someone going out for a casual lunch and more like a secret agent avoiding detection. I stared at him, amusement bubbling up inside me.

"You're sure you're not a rock star hiding from crazed fans?" He laughed, but there was a hint of sincerity beneath the joke. "I prefer avoiding curious eyes," he said, guiding me toward the pub entrance. "You're still under temporary supervision at work. I don't want to give anyone ammunition. And... well, you know it wouldn't be the first time I ended up on gossip pages." "Wait!" I gasped, stopping at the door. "That was you at that Coldplay concert with the mistress?" I teased. Nate made a face of genuine horror and shot back: "Coldplay?" he repeated, incredulous.

"If I were going to embarrass myself in front of the entire world, I'd at least pick something more classic." We both laughed, but underneath the joking, I could sense the truth he didn't say out loud. His past with supermodels and influencers wasn't something that just vanished because he wished it away. Tabloids had long memories, and gossip accounts were always hungry for the next scandal. Inside, the pub was even cozier than the façade suggested. Dark wooden tables, fireplaces burning despite the season, and the comforting smell of home-cooked food.

1/3 "It's strange," I said, glancing around as we waited for our food. "It feels like we've gone back to being just two people getting to know

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lighter layers of him, far from the intensity that always surrounded us at the office. But as the afternoon went on, a familiar unease tugged at me. "Sometimes I feel guilty," I admitted, folding and refolding my napkin. "For not telling Gwen. She's my best

across the table to cover my hand with his, "I'd rather our

know how long this could take." He smiled, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm not waiting," he said simply. "I'm already with you.' After lunch, we wandered through the narrow streets of the town. There was something magical about that afternoon-little

and slipped it into my bag with a secretive smile. "What

"Your favorite 2/3 is the lemon one." "How did you know?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "You made that face on the first bite," he said, smiling. "Same one you made when you kissed me in anger." I laughed, feeling my cheeks warm as the memory hit. "So you're comparing my 'lemon pie face' to kissing you? Not sure if